


negotiation tactics don't work in 5 seconds

by cancerthecrabbo



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beating, Blood, Concussions, Delirium, Episode: s03ep19 The Negotiation, F/M, Friendship, Hospitals, Humiliation, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, I like Karen but she's only there at the beginning, Jim gets beat up, Office Family, Roy attacks jim, Season/Series 03, The Negotiation, Violence, Vomiting, Whump, cursing, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 15:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16139942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancerthecrabbo/pseuds/cancerthecrabbo
Summary: Dwight is in the bathroom, taking his usual 6-second piss (Jim didn’t time it, Dwight did) when Roy comes in.  Pam gets a look in her eyes, and so does Roy, but only one of them zeroes in on Jim with the intent of a crazy man with nothing to lose.





	negotiation tactics don't work in 5 seconds

**Author's Note:**

> Henlo everyone, I bring hurt!Jim and whump to the fandom because it is all I do. It was really, really funny when Dwight pepper sprayed Roy in the episode but I think Roy should've punched Jim so that I could get my dose of whump! since I can't go back in time to convince the writers to beat Jim up, I'll just do it myself.
> 
> btw I actually love Jim I just love him enough to hurt him. :D

There are a lot of things that Jim will and has had to stand in the office under Michael’s management.  Daily shenanigans, embarrassment, and hundreds of hours of wasted time all come to mind.  At the end of the day, he makes money and Pam is only a couple feet away at all times.  But he didn’t think that he’d be punched by anyone other than Dwight, or perhaps Michael by accident, so when Roy strides into the office with that apoplectic look on his face, it takes him a moment, one that would cost him.

 

No, Jim isn’t dead, but not for lack of trying on Roy’s part.

 

Dwight is in the bathroom, taking his usual 6-second piss (Jim didn’t time it, Dwight did) when Roy comes in.  Pam gets a look in her eyes, and so does Roy, but only one of them zeroes in on Jim with the intent of a batshit crazy man with nothing to lose.

 

“Hey, Halpert!”  

 

“Hey."  He glances at Pam.  Jim looks around for escape routes, and he realizes Karen is in the middle of his and Roy's collision course.

 

It happens quickly – Roy charges Jim.  Jim shoves Karen to the side.  Roy’s fist connects with Jim’s cheek, high enough to graze his eyebrow, and the added momentum of tripping over the desk stuns Jim.  Someone – maybe everyone – is screaming but Roy's work in the warehouse was not for nothing and his blows continue to rain down for a solid 10 seconds before anyone has a grip on Roy.  They roll onto the floor, and with Jim’s shit luck, his back hits the floor first.

 

“Jesus Christ, get off of him!”  Jim can’t see past the blood trickling from his split eyebrow.  Whoever tried to save him didn’t hold up against Roy’s fury and the man gets another solid punch to Jim’s mouth.  Someone else must join the fray, because there’s a lot of scuffling, and Roy’s arms are behind his back.  He’s dragged away out of range, but not before he gets in a delightfully pointed kick to Jim’s ribs.

 

Jim groans curling into himself like a dead bug.  He tastes blood in his mouth; prodding around with his tongue proves that the last punch cut the inside of his cheek.  His stomach churns from the taste of iron, the humiliation, and the sudden intensity of the lights in his eyes.

 

“Fu-fucking hell.”  Jim rolls onto his back when someone gently pushes at his shoulder.  His vision is too blurry to see who it is but his face and head hurt so much that he doesn’t care who’s touching him - he doesn't want it.  Flinching away, he pushes himself up onto his elbows and is nearly able to sit before the nausea spikes and he throws up all over the old carpet.  His arms give out which almost lands him right in the puddle of sick but a pair of arms saves him, pulling him onto a lap.

 

“Call an ambulance!”  Someone far too loud is hovering above him.  His features twist in pain, and whoever it is quietly apologizes.  “Call an ambulance, I think he has a concussion.”  Actually, it sounds like Pam.  _Is she okay?_

 

“Is who okay, Jim?”

 

He must have asked out loud.  “Pam.”  Her name comes out garbled from the blood in his mouth, but he guesses the message came across because he feels a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I- I’m here, Jim,” she sounds like she’s crying, “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

_It’s okay_ , he wants to say.  But he’s far too tired.  Is that why he’s on the floor?

 

Another blob mercifully blocks the fluorescent light from above.  “Sir, can you hear me?  I’m here to help you, can you tell me your name?”

 

Ah.  Halpert, as Roy had said, and Jim, as Pam has said.  “Is Pam ‘kay?  She soun’ed upse’.”

 

“She’s okay, sir.  Can you tell me your name?”

 

“Halpert.  Halpert, Jim.  Jim for short.”  It takes him more than usual to get the words out.

 

“Very good,” the blob says, “Let’s get him on the stretcher.” 

 

* * *

 

There is a slice of time in which Jim has no idea what is happening.  Jim thinks feels like the events should make sense but the  world-bending headache isn't letting him think.  Lights, voices speaking jargon, and the feeling of being pushed on something – perhaps a shopping cart, although Jim has always been too tall to fit in shopping carts without bending at least 90 degrees – all add up to…absolutely nothing. 

 

 And it gets even weirder.   He’s lifted from one horizontal surface to another, and this one moves too, but only for a couple seconds.  When he stops moving, someone tells him to _keep still, Mr. Halpert._ It’s oddly tinny but he listens anyway, even when a weird clicking noise starts up.  Jim thinks it sounds more like a hammer hitting an anvil and that alone is just confusing enough to discourage him from trying to figure out where he is.  He clocks out for a while and fades off into sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Sir.  _Sir_.  You cannot have those in here.”  A disgruntled woman’s whisper-shouting wakes Jim. 

 

“I- oh, come on, miss, it won’t hurt.  Look I’ll just do it…on this wall here —,”

 

No, actually, it’s the sound of his boss’s voice that wakes him.  Michael is also whisper-shouting, and somehow doing a better job than the nurse.  He also sounds less upset, so that might be why. 

 

“I’m going to have to call security if you do that.”

 

At that point, Pam’s voice interferes.  “Michael, how about we just let Jim rest?  We can celebrate that he…survived some other day.”  Jim assumes this is enough for the nurse and Michael because no firecrackers pop and a door opens and closes without security being called. 

 

“Fine.  But don’t come crying to me when Jim quits because he’s felt unappreciated for years.” 

 

“If Jim’s gonna quit,” Stanley drawls, “It’s because Roy beat the shit out of him, Michael.”

 

“ _Stanley_.”  Pam’s horrified voice sends a pang through Jim’s chest.  His nose throbs and he can feel a sutured cut on his eyebrow twinge, and above all his entire face feels like one big bruise, but the guilt in her voice surpasses all of his physical aches at that moment.

 

“You should see the other guy,” Jim breaks the silence quietly, his tongue feeling too big in his mouth.  He’s met with another bout of silence.  Peeling his eyes open proves that, yes, half of the office is in his hospital room and they’re all staring at him.  Michael, Pam, Stanley, Oscar, Toby, Kelly, and, oddly enough, Darryl are all crowded around his bed.  Darryl holds a bouquet of greyish-yellow tulips.

 

“Oh God!  Oh, thank God, Jim, I thought you were dead!”  Michael surged forward, firecrackers spilling from his hand and landing harmlessly on the floor.  “I thought you were brain dead.”

 

Jim winces, his headache worsened by the volume of Michael’s voice.  “Michael- shh, shhhh.  Being brain dead for a couple minutes there gave me a huge headache.”  Jim feels perfectly comfortable using humor to build up his walls in his vulnerable state; wearing a hospital gown and laying on a bed combined make him desperate for a hoodie or maybe some time alone to gather himself.  He feels weird, too – his head is stuffed with cotton, and so is his mouth, and his filter is .  Hopefully no one asks him how he feels.

 

“How are you feeling?”  Pam asks, voice mercifully quiet, but Jim hates the feelings bubbling up because of her question.

 

He hums and says, “Bad.  Super bad.  My whole face feels like it was put through a blender.  And all I can smell is blood and it’s gross.  But I also feel really embarrassed.”  Jim pauses, sinking deeper into the mattress and wishing the sheets would swallow him up.  “I got beat up at a fucking paper company by a guy several inches shorter than myself.”  He can’t resist tugging on the sheet and hugging it to himself.  “And I’m thirsty.”

 

Stanley, Oscar, and Kelly, who all look decidedly uncomfortable with his honesty, all offer to get him some water at the same time.  Instead of fighting for the position, they all agree to get the water together. 

 

Darryl steps forward to offer him the tulips, their yellow petals subdued in the fluorescent light of the hospital.  “Roy was crazy angry, Jim.  Not a lot of people could have fended him off.” 

 

Jim hugs the bouquet to his chest.  Holding them is nice because he can pretend he can smell the earthy tang of real flowers instead of just iron but the stem is damp and the plastic crinkling is instantly annoying.  “What do I…do with these?”  Jim blinks up at Darryl and remembers to smile to communicate his appreciation.  It feels more like a grimace.  “Pam, can you hold these for me?  I can’t smell them.”

 

With that cute smile she has, Pam steps forward and takes them from his arms.  “I’ll put them in a vase for you.”  He feels bad for the warmth spreading in his chest and suddenly remembers Karen.  She’s nowhere to be seen.

 

“Uh, where’s Karen?  Did- did Roy get her, too?  I thought I pushed her far enough,” Jim’s mind starts racing with possibilities.  Karen’s such a tiny woman that even someone like Creed, who is a thousand years old, could do some real damage. 

 

“She’s fine, Jim, don’t worry.  She just went to the bathroom.  Karen will be back soon.”

 

Nodding, Jim relaxes back into the bed.  He’s starting to doze off but fights against the heaviness of his lids.  He wants to talk to Pam some more. 

 

“Uh, Jim,” Toby calls, “While you’re still conscious, I need to know if you’re going to press charges against Roy or Dunder Mifflin.”

 

Jim’s anger and humiliation swirl around, stirred by Toby’s question.  He lets his eyes roam around the room.  Toby looks nervous at the prospect of paperwork.  Michael is somber as if he’s already accepted that Jim is going to sue the company he loves so much.  Pam’s eyes have a shine to them and she’s pale, her fingers winding a little tighter around the damp tulip stems.

 

“No, no, of course not,” Jim says.  The atmosphere of the room shifts oddly.  It’s lighter than before; it’s also silent with only the steady beeping of the heart monitor to accompany his reassurance. 

 

“Alright.  Well, feel better soon.”  With that, Darryl and Toby excuse themselves.  Oscar comes in with a water bottle and a small cup of ice chips, but apparently reads the room and sets them down on Jim’s bedside table and lets himself out, too.

 

Pam speaks first.  “I’m sorry he did this to you.”  Her chin wobbles and it feels remarkably like the kick Roy landed on his ribs, which ache as he remembers his foot striking Jim’s side. 

 

“Hey, hey.  This isn’t your fault.  You couldn’t have done anything.  I’m glad you didn’t, actually, you’re so small he could’ve punted you into the Annex or something.  Plus, I would have to beat the crap out of Roy if he hurt you.”  The relief he feels when a tiny smile curls her lips is a balm for his heart.

 

“Thanks, Jim.” She reaches forward and squeezes his hand too quickly for him to reciprocate.  “Sleep well.”  She’s gone before he can gather the right words.

 

Only Michael remains.  Jim hopes he doesn’t pick up the firecrackers.

 

He glances down at the linoleum floor for a second.  “I know what a loser is, Jim.  I know what a loser looks like.”  Michael looks up, making eye contact with Jim.  He rarely gets to see Michael this genuine, this human.  “You’re not a loser.  Roy attacked you, so _he’s_ the loser.”

 

Jim’s eyes are half open at this point.  “Thank you.”  Sincerity isn’t his forte, especially when he feels so raw. 

 

“Get well soon,” Michael responds, “They want to keep you for observation.  Come back to work soon or I’ll fire you.”

 

Smiling, Jim closes his eyes and drifts off before he can take a sip of water.

 


End file.
